


Undead

by dodongodislike



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6502030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodongodislike/pseuds/dodongodislike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman with no past, a man with no future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undead

**Title:** Undead **  
Author:** Dodongo Dislike  
 **Based on:** OOT  
 **Summary:** A woman with no past, a man with no future.

* * *

It began the way most stories do, with hero and heroine brought together by some outside force-destiny-to eradicate some source of evil-a tyrant-from their world. Quest fulfilled, they rewrote the past, present and future so that the innocents around them need never experience the horror the hero and heroine remembered so vividly. They then assume that they, too, can settle into a relatively undisturbed existence, one in which they can live their lives in peace. But heroes either attract or are attracted to trouble, and so other problems arose, prompting other quests. Inevitably, the hero gains the attention, respect, even-to his mortification-worship of his peers. This in turn inspires jealousy and resentment, which leads to more trouble and more quests, resulting in greater attention, respect, and worship, and the cycle spins around and around like the gears in the Kakariko windmill.

Stories being what they are, and the heroine of this story being a princess, trouble usually meant mortal danger for her, and mortal danger usually meant abduction and threat of death. It had happened before, both in the pasts they had made and the pasts they had unmade, and now it had happened again. A trip abroad, an unfortunate coincidence, a few armed men under the command of a disreputable character, and suddenly the heroine had gone missing.

This meant that the hero would have to go retrieve the heroine. Because she would, as always, be waiting for rescue. She might be a little bruised, she might be a little battered but it wouldn't be anything that wouldn't heal. Destiny would once again lend a helping hand; they would find one another, sneak out from under the evil overlord's nose and return, triumphant, to their homeland.

So he went. He found her. He was going to take her home.

So just how, he wondered when the end finally came, could it have all gone so wrong?

* * *

She could remember waking up. She could remember watching fuzzy shapes become distinct, watching a large round form resolve into Olan's broad face. She could remember the way his black eyes and white teeth had gleamed when he smiled and how his deep voice had greeted her. These things she remembered.

Sometimes she thought she could remember other things. Fire, cries, chaos. But those were only fleeting impressions that passed through her consciousness infrequently, never lingering long enough to take root and grow into a complete memory. The pain, however, was not something she remembered or even might have remembered. It was something she experienced as it snuck up on her and grabbed ahold of her skull with its razor sharp talons, leaving her huddled in a ball, clasping her hands over her head, begging for it to stop. It was as much a part of her life as eating, sleeping, and running errands for Emelia. As much a part as hiding from local guardsmen hunting fugitive Hylians in a nation of humans.

She was hiding now. Not two candlemarks ago, Benn had come tearing up the dirt path to Olan and Emelia's cottage with the news that the King's men had returned to the village, looking for traitors and foreigners. She might have been both. She couldn't remember. A foreigner? Yes. A traitor? Perhaps. Someone in the Hylian entourage had betrayed their princess and aided the Daloshan Prince's coup. As she was the only Hylian to have lived through the night's massacre-or so she and Olan had theorized, given where he had found her and the condition she had been in at the time-she must have had some Daloshan friends.

But then again, if she had been the traitor, she wouldn't be hiding in a dark wardrobe in a farmer's cottage. Surely she would be dining with Dalosha's new king as a reward for her treachery.

There was a click from the wardrobe door, the sound freezing her every muscle and strangling her breath. The door swing open, and she was momentarily blinded by the influx of light. She threw her hands up to shield her eyes. "Rose?"

She relaxed at the familiar voice and lowered her arms to behold Emelia's worried face. "It's okay. You can come out now."

The wardrobe was only used when there was no other choice. The rest of the time, she lived peacefully within the confines of the tiny farm, venturing into the nearby village only when it was necessary to run errands or help Emelia carry her home-stitched dresses to the milliner. On these trips, she was careful to keep the hood of her cloak up, at Olan's insistence. Emelia said it was foolish; Rose's form was so slight and pale, so obviously Hylian, that merely hiding her ears would do no good. But Rose-she couldn't yet think of herself by the name, but she supposed she might as well get used to using it-agreed with Olan: better to be overly cautious and alive. The blow to her head that had taken her memory and given her the headaches could easily have killed her.

"The soldiers never left the village," Emelia said as Rose clambered out of the wardrobe, stepping onto the floor gingerly as the blood began to rush back into her feet. "They searched some of the shops and left." Taking Rose's hand to steady her, she said, "Nothing for any of us to worry about."

Rose tightened her hand around Emelia's, grateful that, of all the people in the world who could have taken her in, it had been this one who had done so. Strong-framed and big-boned, Emelia's form and formidability promised shelter from any storm. Not once had Rose felt unsafe in her presence. "Thank you," she said, knowing the words were inadequate.

"Don't thank me," the older woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "This isn't anything any other good woman wouldn't do."

As Emelia trundled off to take care of the evening chores, Rose wondered if she herself had once been a good woman. She wondered if she would ever know.

* * *

Three days later, the stranger appeared.

Rose thought of it as an appearance rather than an arrival, for an arrival was an event that could be foreseen. One expected a person to arrive. With the stranger, one moment he was not there and in the next, he was, standing at the edge of Emelia's garden, staring at Rose and she pulled weeds.

_Hylian._

There was no mistaking it. Even discounting the ears, he possessed the same lithe frame and grace she saw in her own reflection every morning. _"Your people weren't built big,"_ Emelia had once said, _"But by the gods, they're strong."_

Wariness suddenly replaced her surprise. No one simply appears out of nowhere for no reason, even if he is Hylian. Was he one of the traitors? Would he think her one?

"Thank the Goddesses," he whispered, and there was an intensity in his clear blue eyes that took her breath away. "You're alive."

_He knows me_ , she realized. And for the first time in the short few days that she could remember, she felt hope stir within her breast.

The sound of the front door slamming and Emelia's "Oh my!" snapped Rose out of her reverie. The stranger's eyes slid away from hers to regard the human woman. Rose watched Emelia take in the sight of one more Hylian in her garden, before sighing and saying, "I suppose you'd better come inside, young man."

* * *

The four of them had gathered around the kitchen table in an oddly domestic tableau. Emelia rose every now and then during the conversation to make sure everyone's tea cups remained full. Olan grilled the Hylian for news of the outside world, most of which involved the chaos in both Hyrule and Dalosha, the former without a leader, the latter with an illegitimate one. The stranger shared what little he could, which wasn't much, without taking his eyes off of Rose. Rose herself remained silent. She had nothing to say.

"So how did you manage to make it out of the capital after the Prince dropped the net on the city?" Olan was asking. "No one I know who was there has managed to slip out…easily, anyway."

The stranger sighed. "I wasn't there for the coup. I just arrived in the country a few days ago."

"You came _after_?" Olan couldn't contain his surprise. "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

The stranger gaze dropped to regard his teacup. "I'm looking for someone."

"Did you find him?"

"Her."

"Right, did you find her?"

That was when the Hylian looked up, and his gaze slid over to her, his eyes a deeper blue than the sky but filled with a strange intense light not unlike the sun. Rose knew, then, with a clarity that had escaped her ever since she had found herself in this strange new life, that she would be leaving with him. "Not yet," he said.

After dinner, the women went outside to finish the evening chores while the men remained at the table, regarding one another warily. The Hylian was the first to break the silence. "You know who she is."

Olan snorted. "A man would have to be a fool not to."

"And you know I have to take her back with me"

"I just said I was no fool, boy." Olan sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "A man has to do what's right. You can't turn away a soul in trouble. But I'd be a liar if I said I've gotten any sleep since she's been under this roof. Sooner or later, they were going to find her, and my wife and I'd both hang for it." He glanced out the window, where both women were visible outside the small stable, and sighed. "Take her home."

* * *

They left the next morning, under a deep blue sky and a brilliant sun. It wasn't until they were well on their way out of the village and crossing the meadow that he turned to speak to her. "You might as well know," he said, "The name I gave them wasn't my real one. My real name is Link."

"Oh?" Halting, she studied him, trying to decide if this new name suited him better. "Why did you lie about it?"

"I'm rather well-known in some quarters."

"Ah. I understand." Perhaps she did and perhaps she didn't, but what difference did it make? "Link," she said, trying the name out. It felt foreign on her lips.

It did make him smile, though, a smile that stopped her heart before it faded and he said, "Your name isn't Rose."

Did he think her stupid? Of course it hadn't been but, "It is now."

"It shouldn't be."

He was pushing her. Why was he pushing her? Olan and Emelia had never pushed her. "Does it matter?"

"Someone told me once that even though names are symbols, they're incredibly powerful ones."

Surprised by his accusatory tone, she looked up to find him glaring at her. "Who told you that?"

"Who do you think?" His gaze remained on her, remained expectant, and she said nothing. "I suppose," he said at last, drawing out each word, "'Rose' suits you. Did you pick it out or did someone else"

"Olan." She shrugged. "He thought it was pretty."

He snorted. "Pretty, huh? I guess that's a start"

Rose had no idea what to say in response to that, so she turned away and resumed walking.

* * *

Link wanted to scream.

Or, better, he wanted to find a Moblin to kill. Or dismember. Or hunt down this pathetic kingdom's pathetic usurper Prince and rend him limb from limb for not waiting to stage his little coup until after the Hyrulian delegation had returned safely home. Or maybe travel back in time and insist that he and Impa change places.

But the first three would detract him from the mission at hand, and the last had been rendered impossible years ago when Zelda had shattered the Ocarina. He sent a silent apology to Impa's spirit for even thinking that he could have survived where she hadn't.

Had their places been exchanged, would she know what to do now? Would she have been able to see a hint of their princess in the eyes of the woman with him? Because he could not.

The eyes he remembered were shrewd, compassionate, sharp... everything and nothing all at once. They had been able to draw him in against his will or better judgement and slice him up into pieces They had concealed more than they had ever revealed, but each tiny revelation was worth ten times its weight in gold. They were eyes that had seen more death and destruction than ten lifetimes of any other person.

He wanted those eyes back.

They had reached their destination, so he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder to signal her to stop...and kept himself from flinching at the lack of electricity when he touched her. She turned back to him, less wary after three days, but still without recognition. He bit back his frustration and simply said, "We'll stay here tonight."

* * *

In the quiet of one of the inn's few private rooms, Rose leaned against the wall and watched the Hylian stare out the window onto the streets below. She wondered what it must be like for him, to have traveled to a kingdom in tumult to look for someone he couldn't have been sure was alive. But then, she reflected, he seemed the type. She had grown to know him a little over the past few days, and had been impressed by his kindness, even as she had sensed his frustration.

Well, who could blame him? Rose would have been frustrated herself, had not the emotion been such an easy trigger for the headaches. Every time she felt herself growing angry, every time she had pushed her brain as far as she could, the pain would begin to light behind her eyes, eventually burning into a conflagration of agony.

Link had been kind with that, too, holding her hand and bringing cool water for her forehead when the pain had taken her on the road. She wondered if it was a natural kindness that he would have shown anyone, or if she was-had been-special.

_Tell me_ , she wanted to beg. _Tell me who I was. Tell me why you came for me. Tell me what made you love me enough to come for me._ She didn't, though. No answer he could give would rekindle the flame of her memory-that would have to come from within. Rose didn't have to know who she was to know that much. Still..."I'm sorry," she said.

He jumped, as startled by her words as she was. Before he could respond, she added, "I know it was risky for you to come here, but you did. And I haven't..." she sighed, frustrated at her inability to fully articulate what she felt. "It must have taken a lot of courage."

Link had begun to cross the floor to her, but this rooted him to the spot. "'Courage,'" he repeated softly.

Embarrassed by the reaction, mostly because she didn't understand it, Rose looked down at the floor. "I wish I could remember for you."

Strong fingers touched her chin, tilted her face upwards. Startled, she darted a glance up to see his face hovering a breath away from hers.

"You know me." She felt his whisper as much as she heard it. _I don't know,_ she wanted to say, but then his kiss banished all thought from her mind and sent a thrill up her spine.

His lips were soft, and his hands were gentle, so she did not protest. Even a moment's comfort was better than none at all.

And maybe, just maybe, the night would move something within her so that when the sun rose again she would be able to acquiesce to his plea.

_Know me._

 

* * *

 

Rose awoke the next morning to find herself alone on the rough sheets, the room as empty as the bed, illuminated only by the thin dawn light. For a few breaths, she lay motionless under the sheets that had been so carefully drawn over her naked body, her eyes roaming over the gray walls and floor, each corner dark and empty.

_I am alone._

She sat up, wondering if she should feel disappointed or angry at having been abandoned. She decided that neither emotion was worth the effort. Rising from the bed, she crossed the cold wooden floor to retrieve her clothes from where they lay, neatly folded, on the table. She remembered seeing them discarded on the floor the night before; he must have picked them up. It was only a small kindness, but a kindness nonetheless, and it made her hands tremble. Who was she, to deserve his kindness? Who had she been? She knew now what she must have been... but who?

She had almost finished dressing when there was a knock at the door, followed by Link's entrance. "They're serving breakfast downstairs," he said, almost brusquely. "And there's a ship in the harbor that's heading back to Hyrule."

She paused in the middle of buckling her belt. "Did you book passage?"

"Yes."

She met his eyes, hoping her own ambivalence wouldn't show. "All right. Let's go." His eyes ignited at her words, which surprised her. What surprised her even more was how briefly the rage in them burned then extinguished, leaving nothing but despair.

"Yes," he repeated in a voice as dead as his eyes, "Let's go."

* * *

After breakfast, they stood together on the shore of the harbor in the shadow of the boat bound for Hyrule. Rose felt the sea breeze sweep past her, and she absently reached up to tuck a strand of her short hair behind an ear. It was a futile exercise—the wind merely tossed it free seconds later. From where she stood, she thought she could make out the vague shadow of the Hyrulian coast on the horizon, waiting.

_My country._

The sight filled her with sick dread. When she had left Olan and Emelia, she had been happy, excited to return to the place she belonged, even if she could not remember it.

_My home._

But the revelation that had begun so slowly along the road as she had examined the logic of her situation and the odd deference shown by Link had come to horrifying realization last night. When his passion had almost been enough to convince her of who she was. When he'd called her real name.

_My kingdom._

What kind of Princess remembered nothing her of her land? Of her people? Of herself?

"The ship will sail later this morning," Link was saying. "It should make dock in Hyrule before the sun sets"

"No," the word escaped her before she could stop it. But when he turned accusing eyes on her, she was perversely glad it had. "I won't go."

He continued to stare at her, and all at once, it was too much. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you think I'm sort of peculiar creature!" She fought the urge to shake her fist at him. "Like you're waiting for me to do something-something in particular, only you won't tell me what it is, and I don't know what it is, and I don't think I ever will! And don't try," she warned as he opened his mouth to reply, "to tell me that my memory will come back. Don't try to patronize me." With a sigh borne of fatigue, she turned away. "Just don't."

"Why did you agree to come with me?"

"I had to," she said. "I didn't belong there. But I can't go to Hyrule, not without knowing who I am. I need to know. A Princess should know." She looked back up at him, but now he had turned his head away, back towards the ship she would not take back to the place she could not remember. "Will you go?"

"I can't. I thought I could, but…." When at last he looked up at her, it was with eyes wet with grief. "I'm sorry."

Staring back into that dark gaze, Rose felt a similar emotion rise up through her gut, carving away a piece of her soul. Was it pity, sympathy, or grief? Did she mourn for him, or for herself? Surely, if she didn't know who she was, she ought to at least know how she felt. Or were the two so inextricably intertwined that one could not be understood without the other? With an almost inaudible sigh, she laid a hand on his arm and said the only thing she did know. "So am I."

* * *

It wasn't supposed to end like this, he thought. Not with them standing together on the sand as intimate strangers. Standing on a foreign shore with Hyrule shrouded in fog, barely visible across the expanse of the sea. Standing with her in coarse linen, her hair shorn and tangled, the same vague smile on her face now as the one last night when he had entered her bed and body.

He knew now that the act had been nothing more than a final, desperate attempt to rescue the woman he had thought imprisoned within a damaged mind, as if he could use his body to draw her out from the darkness. But there hadn't been a stir, not a hint, not the faintest glimmer of recognition in her eyes-not when he had first touched her face, not when he had drawn her to him, not even when he had breathed her name against her skin.

There was no prisoner this time, and there would be no rescue. No one could rescue the dead.

The breeze picked up, blowing its frigid breath over his body and through his hair. Whitecaps sprouted atop the water, appearing and vanishing without warning. From somewhere in the gray sky, a seagull cried out. Clenching his fists, Link closed his eyes to the world he had lost and the stranger he had won.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

It wasn't supposed to end at all.


End file.
